


Wickedness Sated

by Nearfisc



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Demon Hunters, Blow Jobs, Captivity, Demon Hunter Percival Graves, Incubus Credence Barebone, M/M, Percival Graves has very dubious morals, please tell me if this actually does warrant a noncon tag but I don't think it does, this is not a squeaky clean example of informed consent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-19
Updated: 2017-08-19
Packaged: 2018-12-17 05:47:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11845197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nearfisc/pseuds/Nearfisc
Summary: A demon hunter finds an incubus and decides to keep it for himself.Demon Hunter AU where Credence is part-incubus and Graves is more than happy to "care" for him





	Wickedness Sated

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, yeah, I want to be writing another chapter of a different fic, too, but listen: the idea of a starving, begging incubus just wouldn't leave me alone
> 
> this is my first porn, I'm sorry, please scream at me at my new writing tumblr: nearfisc.tumblr.com

_I’m saving him,_ Percival tells himself. It’s a true enough lie.

Yes, without Percival’s protection, this strange demon-struck young man would quickly kill or be killed. Another Hunter would eventually sense him, find him, the way Percival had. Or he would mature, grow more dangerous, more unstable- who knows what it was capable of, left to its own devices?

Maybe Percival’s intentions had been pure, when he arrived in the fog-choked town seeking the demon he _knew_ was about to strike. And yes, he had felt immense pity for the furtive, touch-starved wretch who had helped him track down the clues Percival had seen in his visions. He should have realized sooner that those touches and the praise he spoke were feeding the very demon he’d come to kill.

But _oh_ , how unexpected was it, how lucky he had been, to stumble across such a strange specimen? The boy wasn’t a true demon- not fully. Percival was aware of such possibilities, had read of their descriptions in the tomes of classic Hunters and wandering Monks who fathered the respectable art of Banishment. There was a myriad of possible ways for a human to wed, flesh and mind, with demonic power. Sometimes the human side won out. Sometimes the human perished.

-and sometimes, that touch of unnatural magic developed and writhed and reared its head at the most inopportune time.

Such had been the case with Credence Barebone.

What an unlucky combination. A normal Incubus would have to be destroyed immediately, of course- couldn’t have one of _those_ running around. Someone born of the unholy union between an incubus and a human- those could live, could pass through life with relative normalcy…aside from a thirst for attention and the unusual ability to procure it. This amalgamation, though- how very unfortunate indeed. There had to be something deeper, some other kind of magic, beyond Percival’s experience.

Percival guessed that the latent attributes of the incubus had only recently began to manifest. Elsewise, the young man would have been driven mad by now. If he had been born in a different time, in a different place, he would never have gone hungry. There were plenty of people to lavish a pretty face with love, and attention, and cherishment, and of course the physical tending to its hungers.

As it stood, raised to hate itself, bound by denial of human affection, the starvation went bone-deep until it couldn’t be contained. When Graves had finally worked out what was going on it was with a sated not-entirely-human deep in slumber held within his arms.

It took one night for him to decide. This- demon- it couldn’t roam free, set up a nest somewhere, attract other hellspawn or grow in power and eventually kill.

Percival would keep an eye on it, that was all.

Under lock and key, at his ancestral home, bound behind runes and seals, for him to come home to.

This was not to say that Credence had no choice, of course- no, when Percival had offered to take him away, to keep him from hurting others, those eyes had shimmered with consent and gratitude. When Percival stroked back his hair, and kissed him so gently, and promised that he’d be well-fed and allowed to learn whatever he wanted, Credence had cried silently and shaken with joy.

What a difference, those first intentions are.

At first it had been as he had said. The incubus was given all he desired; soft, frequent touches and soothing words and bits of praise or attention, those alone were enough to keep the worst of it at bay.

But Percival learns. And Percival wants.

Percival learns quickly how to effectively feed his pet. The longer he leaves it alone- the more distant his gaze when he works in his home near it- the less he speaks to it when he delivers it food for the human half- the closer he allows it to get, without crossing the barrier around his person- the hungrier it becomes.

Until he’s just _perfect_.

“Do you think you deserve to eat, when you’re so wicked?”

Percival sits with his ankles crossed, shined shoes extending just beyond the line of chalk that encircles his reading chair. Credence reaches a shaking hand toward him, a strangled sob spilling forth as the tips of his fingers graze the hem of Percival’s pressed, black pants. It’s been _weeks_. The food does nothing, even when he forces it down his throat, it’s not what he needs, it’s not what he _needs_ -

“You poor thing.”

The demon isn’t the only one who has been denied true pleasure. Percival had shown great self-control. The only release he’s had has been at his own hand, despite the temptation in the form of those red lips and dark eyes. But oh, when he’d spilled under his own grip- when he’d allowed that starving wretch to watch, but not touch, while he ignored it as it sat obediently in the corner, trapped behind a fresh sigil ring- he could only think how triumphant it would feel to finally give in to its pleading.

Now, the time is perfect. Graves wonders if he’s actually gone a bit too far, been a bit too cruel- but then he remembers that it’s a demon, even if a pathetic and unmeaning one, and it deserves whatever mercy he affords it.

And _god_ , it needs mercy. Credence is kneeling on the floor, skin flushed and naked, clothing long discarded in an attempt to alleviate the fever. He’s begging, he’s been begging all day, and although Percival is used to the sound he’s decided that tonight- finally- he’ll reap the fruits of his labor.

Percival extends his leg further past the white chalk line, raising it slightly, and the kneeling demon runs its hand up the back of his calf, over the layers of fabric. Percival watches as it curls itself around the only part of his body within its reach, like someone shivering in the snow and holding a candle close for warmth that isn’t nearly enough.

“Would you like to come up here?” The Hunter asks, voice low, teasing, and Credence nods vigorously, eyes squeezed shut as though in pain.

Percival laughs. “Alright, alright- yes, you wicked thing. We’ll see if you can be good.”

At his words, Percival gives a wave of his hand. He scatters the black sand in his fist, obscuring the lines of chalk and breaking the seal.

The effect is immediate.

Credence scrambles to reach up to his captor, his savior, his torturer, and is stopped short by the sole of that fine leather shoe pressing into his shoulder, right over the collarbone.

“Patience, pet.” Percival instructs, and Credence whines, trying to be good, trying to obey. He leans his cheek into the shined surface, seeking any kind of contact, and Percival presses back with a feigned, chastising, _tut-tut._ Hands are on Percival’s ankle, his calf, desperate, creeping higher.

“Be still.”

Credence obeys; the ghost of a smirk plays at Percival’s lips. Graves looks down into the eyes of the demon, watches his struggle, decides to properly begin. After all- this is for _him_. One hand lays lazily on the arm of the cushioned chair while the other touches his chest over his shirt. He plays with the buttons, trails his fingers downward, ghosts them over his crotch.

“This is what you want?” He asks. Credence stares, a wordless plea, teeth caught in his lower lip. “Come, then; show me you can earn it.”

Percival shifts his position so that Credence is no longer kept at bay and the demon is on him in seconds, hands sliding up his thighs as Graves spreads them to accommodate. Credence is still kneeling as he nuzzles into Percival’s crotch, mouthing over the fabric as he fumbles to expose the desired object beneath. Graves lets him try for a few moments before moving to help. _Stupid, sex-hungry thing_ he thinks to himself, amused, but he cannot deny the effect that such an enthusiastic partner is having.

When the young man’s fingers can reach inside the layers of cloth, it is more than half-hard already and he hardly has the patience to pull it completely out.

“Easy, boy, easy- _ah-_ “

Percival’s words have no effect. Shy kisses and furtive glances have no place here. With the practiced ease of someone beyond any form of shame, that hot, plush mouth wraps around the head of his cock and _sucks_. His tongue laves up the underside of the shaft again and again and _starving_ doesn’t begin to capture how Credence is acting- more like the efforts of someone dying of thirst who has found a trickle of water. He pushes his head down as though desperate to reach the base and Percival isn’t ready for the severity of the sensations yet.

A hand reaches through Credence’s black, waved hair and grasps tightly, stopping the movement of his head and yanking him back.

“Slow _down_ , you fiend, that’s it-“ Credence whines, pathetic, pleading, but Percival sets the pace and he has to adjust. His lips are again allowed lower to touch the slick cockhead and his eyes flutter closed, relief washing over him as he resumes obediently.

Graves tilts his head back in his chair, enjoying the foreplay, but he keeps his hand firmly clutched in the demon’s hair. He knows what it wants; he has his own designs. He would enjoy fucking into Credence’s mouth with reckless abandon, to feel himself pulse in the warm, silken walls of his throat, but even with the stamina potions and meditative spells to protect him he knows the effect an incubus can have- and he wants his pleasure to be more than a pretty face with his cock impaled through it.

Still.

The sounds of light gasps and desperate sucking, the sensation of Credence’s wet saliva over his member, the way Credence’s fingers dig into his hips as he pulls himself down- that’s worth all this trouble on its own, and before he’d found the self-destructive demon Graves would have counted himself lucky to find a mouth like his anywhere in the world.

To be sure, he had no problem filling his bed when he desired. With willing participants who gave him arrogant glances and teasing smiles, who wanted him to beg to put his cock in them. Spoiled little things who thought they could control him with the promise of a quick fuck.

Somehow this was so much more fulfilling.

He allows himself to get lost in the sensation for a while longer; his captive- his guest- is issuing moans of wanton abandon, pushing the limits of Percival’s command, and it feels like absolute heaven.

When Graves inhales sharply and pulls Credence back once more, the boy gives a look like he’d been denied life itself.

“P-please…” Credence’s lips are red and swollen, the shimmer of saliva smeared across them. His black eyes are rimmed with tears, glimmering in the lamplight and alive with lust. It stirred something in Graves to know demons could cry so prettily, and that he could be the cause.

“Of course, pet.” Percival’s hand releases from his dark locks, a firm, calloused palm cradling the side of his jaw with something that looked like love.  “Come here, now, tell me what you want.”

At the invitation Credence clambers up to straddle Graves’ sitting form, Percival’s hand guiding his head up until the demon’s face is buried into the Hunter’s shoulder, seeking warmth. The demon was strategic; immediately, he pressed their exposed cocks to each other, rocking and grinding with that continued desperation.

The hands on Credence’s hips stop the motion short, digging in painfully.

“I said _tell me_.” Percival growls, not letting Credence have any leeway despite hiding his face. “ _Speak_.”

Credence trembled under his grasp, pushing his full weight onto Percival’s chest, and when his muffled voice answered Graves was surprised by its clarity.

“ _Touch me,_ ” he begged- “ _fuck me_ ,” he pleaded- “ _love me._ ” He whispered.

Percival doesn’t answer. One of his hands loosens its grip, roving up the demon’s hips, finds that heated cock next to his own, and squeezes.

“ _Ah-_ “

“Oh, darling, have you not been treating yourself right?”

“ _I- it’s- please-_ “

Percival knew.

He knew, because he’d tried. He’d wondered how capable the not-entirely-incubus was of providing his own pleasure, and he’d run his own little experiments; and he knew that when the beast was writhing on the bed, hand wrapped around its own cock, pumping furiously with precome beading at its pretty pink head- when it finally pulsed and spasmed and spilled its seed- there was just something missing.

That poor, trapped little demon would roll on its side and see him watching and reach out, needing more. Needing touch. Needing reassurance. Needing the energy of another to sustain it, to chase away the ripping emptiness that clawed somewhere inside of it.

Now, he would give it to him.

Percival stroked his hand once; twice; slow, controlled, smearing precome down the length of it before bringing their cocks together again to repeat the gesture before reaching his other hand down to the small, open-lidded stone bowl on the short table by the side of the chair.

When that hand returned, it was to slide a slicked finger between the firm globes of Credence’s ass and rub, exploring, searching for the next place Percival planned to fuck.

At the touch Credence seemed to return to that feral state from before. He pushed back immediately, seemingly torn between the feeling of Percival stroking their cocks and the desire to have Percival’s fingers inside of him. Luckily for him, Percival didn’t intend to make him choose; he was getting impatient himself, and when the digit entered his waiting hole, the demon made a sound that could have made a saint blush in church.

Percival wasted no time, adding another slicked finger as soon as he felt the resistance dissipate, and another, and soon he was rocking into Credence from behind as his other hand worked their cocks from the front. Finally it was too much, Credence couldn’t take it, he couldn’t be patient, he _couldn’t-_

When Credence lifted his face, pushing against Percival’s shoulders to lift himself up on his knees in the chair above Graves, the Hunter made a noise of amusement and understanding. He held the demon’s waist, helping him, guiding him into position, making low words of reassurance that to Credence’s ears sounded like high praise.

A moment of readjustment was all it took before Credence was pressing down so slowly, so lovingly, the head of Percival’s thick cock pushing with that insistent pressure, and then it was in, and Credence was in heaven.

This time, Credence goes still on his own. Percival is breathing heavy, nostrils flaring as he takes in the sight before his eyes; how beautiful, to see the fevered, flushed demon with his black lashes closed in ecstasy, lips parted and still covered in the sheen from sucking the cock that is now buried in him. _Just lovely._

When Percival starts to move, it breaks the trance. Credence comes alive. He needs no instruction from here as he starts to rock in Percival’s lap, eyes half-open now and looking down reverently, thankful. The demon’s hands are at Graves’ chest now, seeking, demanding, pulling open the buttons at Graves’ shirt so he can brace himself against the bare skin of his savior. Graves allows it, amusement now behind him as he revels in the movements of the incubus.

Credence lifts himself up using his thighs, sinking down once, twice, again, with mounting desperation, but it’s not enough, it’s not enough-

He leans forward, trying to get more from Graves, needing stimulation, needing touch, needing anything and everything. When his mouth finds Percival’s neck, Graves thinks he’s going to be kissed.

This kiss has teeth.

Percival grunts in unexpected pain at the bite. His hand flies to Credence’s neck, pushing him backward, grasping at the base, and the look Credence gives him says- _yes._

“Pleasure for me.” Percival growls, happy to oblige. “Pain, for you.”

His other hand slides upward, finds Credence’s pert nipple, pinches cruelly, and the sound the demon makes is cut off by the strong pressure at his neck.

Credence acts like he’s been given everything he’s asked. His hands press into Graves chest, fingers digging in, as he fucks himself in earnest, and when Graves’ cock finds that place, Percival knows it immediately from the desperation with which Credence works to replicate the phenomenon.

Percival isn’t doing much better. _God_ , this boy is going to be the death of him, even with preparation and such a relaxed position, Graves can feel the energy absolutely flowing out of him, pouring into the empty vessel that is the demon’s hunger. Somewhere in his mind, Percival is reveling in his lucky find- this is going to be so much more _fun_ than he’d first anticipated, so much opportunity, so much possibility-

-but for now, he has to feed his companion, has to make him feel good.

 _Why did I think that?_ , he thinks, and part of him realizes he’s in trouble, but then the thought is wiped away with the mounting wave of pleasure he feels building deep in his stomach.

Credence squeezes him with all he’s worth, sinks down as far as he can, throws his head back while he’s buried to the hilt, and just as his exposed cock jerks and spills he hears Percival’s cry as his own orgasm rips through his body and shakes them both to their core.

…

When Percival’s senses come back to him, Credence has pulled off him and is now curled forward and humming in contentment, nuzzling deep into his neck. Percival doesn’t remember wrapping his arms around the young man, but he strokes his hands in soothing circles on the demon- the human’s- back, and somehow, it feels like what he needs to be doing.

“Can we go get clean?” Credence asks, his voice clear and sentient and polite.

“ _Of course_ , love, yes, of course-“ Percival answers and he moves quickly as Credence pulls away from him and allows him to stand. The room swims as he does so, and Percival finds himself leaning on Credence as he is led to the bathing room.

 _How does he have so much strength-?_ Percival thinks, but then he thinks that’s a stupid thought, and oh god, he’s in more trouble than he’s realized when a bolt of pain runs through his heart because he’s taking too long to fulfill Credence’s desires. He’d starved it too much, he’d waited too long, he’d thought he knew what he was doing, oh _fuck-_

A few minutes with some hot water and some clean cloths is all they need to make themselves feel clean enough to go to the bedroom, and Credence is murmuring the whole time about how good Graves is and how nice that meal was and how soon they can have another, and Percival feels at once thrilled and worried, but it's not like he has a choice now.

When he’s sitting on the bed the demon motions for him to remove his clothes and he rushes to do so, casting aside those shined shoes and expensive fabrics that had helped him in his travels, helped him look like someone important, someone with power. Credence is pulling back the blankets, making himself a nest, and when he nicely tells Graves that he would like to be held close and kissed while he sleeps, Graves wraps his arms around the demon-in-human-form and gives him all he asks for.

“Touch me,” Credence says- “Fuck me,” he commands- “Love me.”

And Percival will.


End file.
